


Neverland

by Hinn_Raven



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Dimension Travel, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-07 23:25:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/pseuds/Hinn_Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night, while on patrol, twelve year old Jason Todd falls through a portal... and lands in the future. If only people would actually tell him what's going on...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Lost Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [happyrobins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/happyrobins/gifts).



> Inspired by the beautiful drakefeathers, who's been waiting a very long time for this to come into reality.

“Red Robin, checking in,” Tim said, scanning the alleyway below him. “Sector Five is clear.”

“Sector Three, clear as well,” Steph said into her communicator, her smile audible. He could hear her panting slightly, indicating that she’d just been in a tangle of sorts. He quickly glanced at the electronic readout of her suit, trying to see if he could tell if she was injured. The suits readings appeared to be normal, so she was probably just winded.

“Sector Four,” Cass said softly, her voice almost lyrical as she spoke into the comms. “Clear.” He heard the faint rush of wind that indicated travel by grappling hook.

“Sector Two,” this was Dick, his voice gravel and razor blades and sandpaper, but still velvet and puppies and feathers compared to that of Bruce’s Batman, “Clear.”

“Sector Seven,” Selina’s whip could be heard in the background, along with the faint yelp of her unfortunate victims. “Is… clear.” There was the faintest _thump_ of flesh hitting concrete.

“Sector One is clear,” Bruce’s growl was unmistakable. Tim knew how he’d be standing; dramatically crouched on a gargoyle, the wind blowing _just so_ in order to make his cape billow out around him. He could picture the way that the cowled eyes would scan the streets below, daring a cowardly criminal to come out of hiding so the big bad Bat could dramatically pounce on him (or her) from above. Bruce was the master of dramatic winds in a way that Dick never was. If Bruce had a superpower, Tim suspected it would be ambiance control. He had that effect on things.

Tim bit back a comment about how quiet the night was. He could tell that some of the others were as well. No one wanted to tempt Fate, who not only had a sense of humor worthy of the Joker, but also seemed to enjoy lobbing out the unexpected, unexplainable, and just plain _weird_ at their family. In his mind, Tim pictured Fate as a child, playing with a ball, which happened to control the normalness-level in Gotham City. Normally, it was pretty consistent, but on occasion, she dropped the ball and it rolled into the sewer, where it became the plaything of mutant alligators. The allegory really would explain a lot about Gotham, even if it was a bit colorful.

Tim switched the lenses in his camera over to infared, checking to see if all was as quiet as it seemed. It seemed to be, but Tim was a bit suspicious.

It was a cool, cloudy night. A small patch of clouds glowed faintly, indicating the presence of a moon behind them. A gust of wind hit Tim in the face and he shivered, grateful for the extra padding that Alfred had included in his suit.

The night was quiet, with only the occasional car passing by breaking the heavy silence. The windows in the nearby buildings were all dark, with a mere handful of flickering lights indicating televisions or computers being used. The people of Gotham seemed to want sleep tonight.

“Anything happening, Oracle?” Steph asked, sounding mildly bored. He pictured her sitting on the edge of a rooftop, squinting at the road below, her hair flowing freely in the wind. Knowing her, she might try to buy something to eat in a little while, in full costume. She’d pose for a picture with the person who sold it to her as well, and it would get a few thousand likes on Instagram and Twitter, and give Bruce an aneurysm (which, to be honest, was probably why Steph did it _all the time_ ).

“Not that I can see,” Babs replied. Tim could hear the _click-clack_ of the keys, and the gentle _whir_ of her computers. He could imagine her, basking in the light of her screens, the mighty Oracle controlling the world of information with a press of a button. He probably should go see her soon. His tech needed an update, and she was the best for that, there was simply no denying it.

The entire family was out tonight, and everything felt perfect. Damian growled something under his breath over the comms as he followed Dick over the rooftops of Gotham. Alfred, voice mild as ever, reminded Bruce that tomorrow he had an appointment with Vicki Vale.

Wendy Harris asked Steph a question about homework, prompting a reprimand from Bruce about using the public channels. Steph laughed, answered the question, and then proved Tim’s prediction right by going to a Burger King in full costume.

“Get me a milkshake?” Cass asked. She probably was wearing that puppy-dog look on her face.

“Chocolate or vanilla?” Steph asked promptly, the _whoosh_ of the door being pushed open coming over the comms.

“Chocolate. Duh.”

“Right, sorry. Oh hey! Yes, I’m Batgirl. Can I have a Number Five, no pickle, and a chocolate milkshake please? To go, thanks. Yes, I know Batman. Oh, can I get fries with that? Yes, Nightwing does have a great ass. Do you have ketchup packets? Oh that’s great! Sure, I don’t mind having my picture taken at all!”

Bruce’s sigh could be heard by all of them. Tim bit down on a laugh, spreading his arms out in order to take flight. The feathers of his glider fell into place, flaring out like a great red-and-black peacock.

He leapt off the edge of the building, allowing his glider to catch the air currents and carry him forward. The wind was cool in his face, but Tim allowed himself a smile. It wasn’t like anyone would be able to see him.

He spotted a small girl, about ten years old, with tiny braids pulled into ponytails and a wide smile, staring up at him. He recognized Steph’s biggest fan, Nell Little, and hid his grin. It looked like Nell might be a little bit like him as well as Steph, if she was taking to searching out the heroes on patrol. He made a mental note to mention this to Steph later, see if she would want to switch patrol sectors later to allow Nell to see her.

He landed on the next roof, and began to scan again for intruders. In his ear, he could hear Damian and Dick snarking again, and he ignored that old stab of jealousy that flared up every now and then. A part of him still hated Damian for taking away his costume and name, hated him for taking his place in Dick’s life, resented him for taking Bruce and Dick’s affection so carelessly, and winning it without even trying, when Tim had to fight tooth and nail to even get a little recognition. But Tim tried to ignore that part of him, no matter how raw and large it was.  Damian was Robin now. He had to remember that. He had to make peace with that.

A gunshot broke the silence of the night, ripping through the night air and destroying the semblance of tranquility.

Tim leapt into action, activating his sonar in order to track down the location of the shot.

Another shot rang out, followed by the sound of electricity crackling. Tim sped up, ignoring Oracle’s demands for him to tell her what was going on. People could be _dying_. He could distantly hear the rest of his family shouting over the channel, but he didn’t pay attention. His focus was as precise as everything about him was--there was simply no room for anything else.  

He skittered to a stop on top of an apartment building rooftop. The building was decrepit, but still occupied, several windows broken and the roof in disrepair. The source of the commotion appeared to be a portal that hovered a foot above the rooftop. Five feet in diameter, it glowed a pulsing red light. It threw shadows of things that weren’t there; gunmen and a darting, dashing figure in a cape. Tim quickly used the scanner in his cowl to analyze it, hoping it was something nice and harmless and non-lethal.

There was a crack like a whip, and the smell of ozone filled Tim’s nose. He threw his arms up in front of his face, hoping that the thick material of his cape could protect him from whatever was about to happen.  The portal flashed bright green, and then a small figure tumbled through. The portal expanded to ten feet, and then snapped close with a mighty _crash_ , faster than Tim could blink (probably faster than _Bart_ could blink.)

The figure was a small boy, barely older than Damian. He was crouched on the roof, ready for a fight. He was breathing hard, his shoulders shaking slightly. His hair was thick and wavy, ink black in the minimal light provided by the streetlamps, sticking up in an out of control, but slightly adorable mess.

The boy staggered to his feet, which were clad in familiar pixie boots. His domino mask was black with white lenses, which were wide with confusion as the youth scanned the night around his for any sign of danger. A yellow cape fell over his shoulders, barely making it to his waist. His legs were bare, unprotected, clad only in a pair of fishscale panties that were an eyesore to behold.

Tim knew the costume, knew the boy who wore it too. He’d spent far too many nights stalking him, taking pictures and daydreaming of what it would be like to be him.

Jason Todd, age twelve, straightened out of his crouch. His eyes landed on Tim, where the older boy was hidden in the shadows, and bristled, batarangs materializing in his hands as the boy prepared for a fight.

“Robin!” Tim said, feeling like that ball of normality had just entered the digestive tract of the sewer alligator. He stepped into the light, raising his hands in a way that would hopefully communicate to the second Robin that he didn’t mean to attack. The boy didn’t make a move, eyes focused on Tim.

“Who are you?” Jason demanded, voice high, barely even a hint of a scratch to indicate that he would one day emerge from puberty (or did he manage to skip that, what with his death, resurrection, and mentally damaged time and all?) as a six-foot-something, heavily muscled bass.

“My name’s Red Robin. I’m a friend,” he said, inching closer. Jason looked so young. He had baby fat, like Damian, although his was starting to fade slightly. He was skinny underneath the Kevlar tunic, his legs lightly tanned sticks. He had _freckles_ scattered across his face, and an adorable scowl.

“Never heard of you,” Jason said, baring his teeth in what was supposed to be an intimidating gesture. But Tim had seen the same expression on the older, more violently insane Jason, and after that, the younger’s Jason’s version was a half-hearted mockery.

“Jason,” Tim said, taking a risk. The boy froze, eyes zooming in on Tim’s face, trying to identify him despite the cowl.

“Doctor… Mid-night?” Jason said slowly, squinting. “Is that you?”

Tim wanted to rip his hair out. Not that name _again_. “No. Red Robin.”

Jason stared at him. “What kinda name is _that_?”

“Jason,” Tim said slowly, approaching the boy. “Jason, what happened?”

“Magic user,” Jason said, reluctantly allowing Tim to impeach upon his personal space. He lowered the batarangs. “With a _gun_. Is that even _allowed_? I hate magic. Magic sucks. I hate magic.”

Tim thought about Jason crawling out of his coffin, ripping his way out of his grave, onto the streets. He thought about the Lazarus Pits, bubbling and sinister and green.

“I suppose you do,” he said neutrally. “Jason, I think we should get back to the Batcave.”

“Why?” Jason was up in arms instantly, on the alert. “Who _are_ you even? How do you know my name?”

“I’m a friend of Nightwing’s—” Tim tried, hoping that Jason hadn’t had his stint with the Titans yet.

“Bullshit!” Jason snapped, stepping back.

“Jason… where were you before the portal?”

“Crime Alley!” The boy snarled, wielding his batarangs again.

“Jason, you didn’t just travel through space,” Tim said, hoping to break it gently. “You travelled in _time_.”

Jason stared at Tim as if he’d gone insane. Then he looked around, taking stock of the Gotham City around him.

“Did things just get _shittier_?” Jason demanded, throwing his arms up in the air. (Thankfully, without the Batarangs.)

Tim refrained from answering, although he was sorely tempted. Instead, he gestured behind him with a sweeping wave of his arm. "Shall we?"

* * *

Jason didn't understand what was happening as he followed the guy in black and red. He probably shouldn't have followed the man... boy... teenager... person, should have ran off and found Bruce on his own, but... well...

The portal had made him kinda woozy. It was all Jason could do to remain upright, despite the fact that his internal organs felt like they'd just been through the wringer, not to mention the pounding in his head.

Red Robin (and what kind of stupid name was _that_ , Jason wanted to know) muttered something softly into his communicator, too quiet for Jason to hear. He didn't really care though. All he wanted to do was to get back to Bruce and Alfred, and maybe his nice soft bed.

Oh wait, his future self was probably using it. Damn.

Or maybe not. Dick didn't use his old room very often, after all. But he didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think of that, in a few years, he might not be Robin, and be fighting with Bruce, and never come back to the Manor, like Dick did.

He wanted to ask about his future self, but he decided it probably wouldn't be a good idea. He wasn't a hundred percent sure that he could even open his mouth without puking.

Red Robin's cape looked a little weird. It didn't hang quite right, not like Bruce's or his own. Not even like Superman's. It looked bulkier, somehow, like there was something hidden in it.

Jason couldn't really get a grasp on the guy's age. He was clearly older than Jason, but a bit younger than Dick. But seeing as Dick was eighteen, and Jason was twelve, there was still a bit of leeway. He stood at about five-foot-seven, more lean muscle than bulk, similar to Dick in that regard. His skin was pale, his features looked ridiculously delicate, as if they were made of Alfred’s fancy china instead of bone like a normal person. His hair was hidden by a weird cowl-thing that he wore, which vaguely reminded Jason of a condom.

Red Robin had a motorcycle, which was _really cool_. Bruce hadn't let Jason have his own motorcycle yet, but Jason took careful note of the design, because when Bruce let him, he was going to try to get it to look a little like this.

It was sleek and red, with black highlights and a symbol that was probably Red Robin's insignia, since he wore it on his chest, on the headlights. Jason thought it was a thousand times cooler than Dickface's motorcycle. Red Robin didn’t wear a helmet, which Alfred probably nagged him over, and he didn’t have a spare, so Jason couldn’t either. But he slid in behind Red Robin, wrapped his arms around the other boy’s waist, and didn’t say anything.

The two of them raced off into the night.

* * *

By the time Tim and Jason arrived at the Batcave, everybody except for Bruce and Steph (a mugger and a D-List villain whose name Steph couldn't remember were the causes for their respective delays) has gathered in the cave.

Jason seemed nonplussed by the added security measures, although Tim noticed the young Robin was looking a little pale and sweaty; side-effects, no doubt, from his unintentional magical time-hop. It was probably minor, but Alfred and Leslie could check it over later, confirm that it wasn’t anything serious.

Damian was lurking in the shadows, apparently sulking because Cass had beaten him to his favored spot of Bruce's chair. Cass was sitting cross legged, facing them. She had cut her hair again, a short pixie cut with bangs that was oddly adorable, despite being windswept and sticking out at all angles, completely out of control. Babs wasn't there, still secure in her Clock Tower with Wendy Harris, but she could be seen on the screen, talking quietly with Dick, who was still wearing the Batman costume. Dick's back was to them, and suddenly Tim's gut twisted, as if he realized that this was not going to be good.

By Tim's reckoning, this Jason was three years younger than he had been before his fatal encounter with the Joker. This Jason was so _young_ , it was ridiculous. This was the Robin that Tim had idolized for so long, the one he always spoke to when he addressed the glass memorial case. It had been so long since Tim had thought of him like that, young and cheerful, his pain buried and lesser than the pain that was so all-consuming in the Red Hood. It was hard to see the Red Hood in this kid, who ran forward, grinning broadly, as he yelled, "Bruce!" His face was lit up, all suspicion and wariness gone. Sometimes, honestly, Tim forgot just how important Bruce had been to Jason.

Dick turned around, the cape flaring slightly. Jason stumbled, his feet (too large for the rest of his body) catching on each other, and he froze in the middle of the room, halfway to Dick. The Boy Wonder stared up at Dick, all color faded from his face, making his freckles stand out as if they'd been made with permanent marker instead of sun exposure.

"You're not Bruce," Jason whispered in the choked voice of someone who is about to start crying.

"Jason--" Dick started, clearly realizing what was going on through Jason's head.

Dick was wearing the Batsuit. Bruce wasn't in the Cave. Jason thought...

"He's not dead!" Jason yelled, his face twisting into anger. His cheeks flushed, his eyes were shining brightly with unshed tears. "He can't be! How could you, you _bastard_!" He flung himself forward, clearly intending to take a swing or fifty at Dick. Cass and Tim leaped forward at the same time, catching him before he could actually hurt the oldest Batchild.

"Jason, please _listen_!" Tim pleaded, grabbing onto the boy's flailing arms. Jason's clenched fist nearly hit him in the nose.

Cass said nothing, merely held him back. Her face was twisted in pain and sympathy.

Jason collapsed instead of listening, tears pouring down his face as he sobbed helplessly. Cass knelt down, wrapping her arms around him carefully, her cape falling over the two of them, sheltering Jason from the sight of Dick in the Batsuit. "Shhhh," she cooed, her melodic voice gentle. "Shhhhhh. It's alright. Alright. All alright. Shhhh."

Jason let out another sob and buried his face against her stomach, fingers clinging to the fabric of her cape.

"Jason?" The voice wasn't Batman's. It was _Bruce_ , through and through. There was pain, and confusion, and fear, and apprehension, and hope, and a thousand other emotions contained in that voice. It was a father seeing his son again, it was a man seeing a ghost of his past, it was a general seeing a lost soldier, it was Bruce seeing everything he'd lost and everything he'd mourned for, curled up in a small crying ball in his daughter's arms.

Bruce's voice seemed to break through Jason's hysteria in a way that none of them had been able to. His head snapped up, and Cass's arms released him immediately.

Bruce went to his second son, slowly, as if afraid that if he actually touched him Jason would fade into nothing. Carefully, treating the Robin as if he was made of glass and was about to shatter into a thousand pieces, he reached out. Jason threw himself forward, so relieved that Bruce was _alive_ that he didn't care about anything else.

"I've got you," Bruce whispered, voice hoarse and broken in a way that seemed so wrong. The others shifted where they stood, feeling as if they shouldn't be seeing this. It was too raw, too real, too private. "I've got you Jason."

They stayed like that for ages, much to Tim's discomfort. He glanced at Cass, who was whispering with Steph, so low that he couldn't hear them. Dick was trying to pay attention to a case file on the screen, but Damian was staring at his father and Jason, scowling possessively.

This, Tim thought grimly, was probably going to be trouble.

* * *

Alfred showed Jason into his old room, where he would be staying until the whole time-travel issue could be solved. He asked if his future (present?) self would mind, a bit curious to learn if he still lived there. Tim (Red Robin's real name, apparently) had told him that he couldn't meet his future self, or the space-time-continuum would do a thingy and collapse or implode or explode or possibly just turn into gelatin. (Jason hadn't really been too much attention, to be honest.)

His room didn’t look too much different than he remembered it being back home. The oak  of shelves were jam packed full of books, some library, some stolen from the Manor, some his own. A guitar was propped in the corner, and there was a stand with some sheet music arranged on it. There was a bulletin board with pictures of a few musicians, a movie star or two, a Batman postcard, and his Superman autograph, hanging over his desk, which was covered in notebooks, pencils, lists, and more books. Jason sifted through them curiously, noting the titles and subject.

He pushed back the thick red curtains, grinning as he saw his favorite tree was still there, now leafless and covered in snow. Bruce’s old swing still hung from the lowest hanging branch, although it seemed to be in better repair. He must have gotten around to fixing it, like he had been meaning too. He grinned at the thought of that.

Jason threw himself onto the bed, grateful for the familiar feel of his scarlet quilt. He burrowed under the sheets and covers, breathing in the familiar scent of Alfred’s detergent. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, which was still decorated with the phosphorus stars and moons that he had stuck up there after his first Christmas at the Manor. With Bruce's help, he'd managed to map out the constellations on his ceiling, and now they were still there, glowing faintly down on him. He smiled to himself, then rolled onto his side and tried to sleep.

* * *

The Cave was hauntingly silent.

"The Red Hood is still in Arkham Asylum," Babs said, finally. Her voice was quiet. "He took his medication last night, so he'll be quiet. Low chance of nightmares, and he'll be lethargic tomorrow. He usually only takes them after a rough day, which judging by the medical report filed at noon, it probably was."

Tim saw Bruce flinch, at the reminder that the young, happy Jason who'd cried in Bruce's arms wasn't the only Jason anymore. That the boy had been warped by the Joker and Talia al Ghul and countless others into... well, the Red Hood.

Dick had removed his costume, and was now wearing a pair of black spandex short shorts and a white tank top. He leaned against the consol of the Bat Computer, taking great care not to cover Babs' view of the world. Tim was still in his costume, although he'd removed his cowl, his hair sticking up in all directions in a spikey mess. Cass, dressed in baggy sweats and a raggedy Wonder Woman t-shirt, leaned against him. Steph sat cross-legged on the floor, wearing jeans and a purple shirt with a bulky black jacket and yellow scarf, as if she expected Bruce to throw her out and not permit her to stay the night after everything that had happened.

Actually, knowing Steph's experience with Bruce, it wasn't too far fetched.

Bruce was also cowl-less but costumed, sitting in his chair without a single expression on his face. He wasn't facing Babs or the computer but instead gazed over Tim and Cass's heads, his eyes leveled at the glass memorial case behind them. His hands lay on the armrests, gripping them tightly. Tim was certain that if he removed Bruce's gauntlets, the knuckles would be white, and the hands might even be shaking.

Jason had come back a long time ago, back from the dead as an unstable killer. One day the Red Hood could be almost friendly, willing to share information or even team up, the next day there might be blood shed. The Battle for the Cowl was fresh in Tim's mind, and he knew it was in his brothers' minds as well, judging from Damian's dark glower.

Damian was the only one still in full costume. He'd sceeded ownership of the chair to Bruce, but he paced back and forth, almost foaming at the mouth. Tim was personally very surprised that the youngest child was still silent, instead of ranting and raging like he clearly wanted to. Perhaps even Damian could tell that Bruce was not in the mood to listen to paranoid commentary.

This Jason was the one that Bruce had lost, pure and simple. The one that Bruce had struggled to find in the Red Hood, and only rarely managed. The boy who'd been lost to the streets and grit of Gotham, to the burn of the Lazarus Pit, as well as the cold clutches of death. This was the Jason that Tim had admired, that Steph had grown up with, that Dick had doted on and abhorred in turn.

And they could all feel it weighing down on them, the knowledge that the young boy would grow into a man who would kill a criminal just as quickly as capture one.

"Do we tell him?" Steph asked quietly, tucking her chin over her knees. Her bangs fell into her eyes, and she stared at the concrete floor, as if ashamed that she had voiced what the entire family was thinking.

"How can we?" Tim asked, feeling oddly hollow. He stared blankly ahead, trying to re-memorize the nooks and crannies of the Batcave's walls. "How do we just tell someone that he's going to die, dig his way out of his grave--"

"And then come back as a _psychopath_?" Damian sneered, finally drawn out of his silence.

Bruce flinched imperceptibly.

Babs frowned at Damian. “Jason isn’t a psychopath,” she said sternly. “He has severe PTSD, coupled with Lazarus Syndrome.” Which the doctors at Arkham didn’t know about. Lazarus Syndrome wasn’t exactly well known.  

Damian huffed angrily, mouth set bitterly. “He still is untrustworthy and dangerous.”

Tim shook his head, despite the fact that Jason was one of the few subjects on which he and Damian normally could agree on. “Not this Jason.”

“We need to get him home,” Steph said tiredly, closing her eyes. “His family...” His _Bruce_ , she didn’t need to add. Tim remembered very well how well Bruce had taken Jason dying. He tried to imagine how Bruce would have taken Jason randomly disappearing. He’d probably declare war on magic and make bad life choices for an extended amount of time. Or both.

He nodded instead of voicing those thoughts.

* * *

Damian glared at Todd over his bacon and eggs breakfast, half wishing that he would develop Kryptonian heat vision and drill a hole in the other boy’s head. The (older) boy’s hair was a disaster, his waves and curls sticking straight up, defying gravity in a way that only bedhead really _can._ Todd was eating some of Grayson’s sugary, colorful cereal, chatting with Brown cheerfully about something asinine that Damian didn’t really understand, but it seemed to involve a lot of people whose names he didn’t know and acronyms. Brown had (of course) whipped up a batch of waffles, which she was eating as she broke from their discussion to tell a ludicrous tale about Dracula and Supergirl, which involved multiple phrases like “Buffy” “ganked” “went all Xena on their asses”.

Cain was watching the waffle iron and the conversation, a smile on her face as she watched them. The waffle iron dinged and she carefully flipped it. Pennyworth was keeping a cautious eye on her as he made more bacon and eggs. Pennyworth wasn’t smiling, but he had that self-satisfied aura around him that indicated that he was rather pleased with the whole situation. (Pennyworth had that aura far too often.)

Drake was perusing the _Daily Planet_ , absent-mindedly eating his own bacon as he worriedly examined the stock report. Drake was wearing sweats and a t-shirt with the crest of the House of El on it, probably a gift from Kent., Tim’s ridiculously frequently visiting best friend. Drake was intending to go in for a Wayne Enterprises board meeting today. Damian hated that Drake had taken over his father’s company, but so far Grayson and Father had stopped his injunctions from actually going through. So for now, Drake maintained the empire, a duty which ought to be _Damian’s_.

Cain nudged him, frowning. Her dark eyes, which always seemed to be able to see through every barrier he put up (curse David Cain and his training), were glaring at him. She didn’t like it when he seethed. She added more bacon to his plate though, which probably meant that she didn’t mind too much.

She then offered some to Todd, who beamed up at her and accepted.

Father had not emerged from his room yet, along with Grayson. Damian stabbed his eggs with his fork, imagining that it was Todd’s face.

It wasn’t _right_ , that Todd was here. The sorry excuse of a Robin belonged in Arkham, where deranged lunatics who _shot_ people belonged. The scars that Todd had inflicted upon him itched under his polo shirt.

This Todd was no more trustworthy than the one in Arkham. It was probably a trick. Before this horrid affair was over, he would doubtlessly stab them all in the backs. The others were being foolish and sentimental, allowing Todd’s youthful face and shameful tears to lead them astray. They believed he was innocent and harmless, and were already accepting him into the family with open arms. It was up to Damian to guard against the inevitable betrayal.

“Don’t you have classes, Brown?” He grumbled darkly. Father had given Brown a ridiculously large scholarship from the Wayne foundation so she could continue her studies in medicine and English Literature, of all things. She was planning on being a doctor, and had even outlined a few vague plans on working with Doctor Thompkins in her clinic.

“Not on a Saturday!” Brown laughed, dolloping whipped cream on top of her second helping of waffles. She flipped her hair dramatically, smirking at Damian. Todd laughed as well, his laugh annoying and grating on Damian’s nerves. Damian wondered if Father would allow him to spar with Todd. It would be excellent to put the boy in his place.

Damian ate his eggs and bacon and imagined punching Todd in the face.

* * *

Bruce woke up late.

This was nothing unusual, especially after a night as long as the one he’d had. He’d stayed awake until nearly six in the morning, doing his best to analyze the energy readings from the portal that had brought Jason to this world.

 _Jason_. Bruce ran his hands through his hair. The weight on his chest was heavier than it had been in years.

His _son_ was back, alive and healthy and happier than Bruce could ever dream. He was smiling and laughing and getting along with his siblings, and it hurt Bruce like nothing but something related to Jason could, because every inch of Bruce insisted that _it should always be like that_.

This carefree Jason was painful just to look at, knowing that the boy had a different home, but at the same time, being unable to disrupt the timestream.

_“You can’t tell him, Bruce,” Zatanna looked pained and sympathetic. “Look, I know this is hard... but telling Jason information like that? It could disrupt the entire timestream. You don’t know if he’s from our universe or an alternate universe. If he’s from ours, and you tell him...”_

_“Everything falls apart,” he muttered, bowing his head and closing his eyes._

_“We learned that the hard way,” Zatanna said, rubbing her temples with her fishnet-gloved hands. “Changing time to avoid deaths... the consequences are severe.”_

_“I know.”_

And he did know. Logically, he knew. Telling Jason about his mother, about the Joker, about his _death_ , could destroy everything. The effect on the timeline would be catastrophic, to say the least.

Bruce wanted to do it more than anything. He wanted to save his son, wanted to spare him that pain and suffering. He wanted to make sure that he never had to bury his son.

But he couldn’t.

There was a knock on his door. Sighing, Bruce got to his feet, glancing at himself in the mirror. He had a lunch-conference thing at Wayne Enterprises today, and Tim, Alfred, and Lucius had all told him, explicitly and clearly, that he needed to be there, so he was dressed in his classic tuxedo.

He pulled open the door to his room, expecting to see Alfred, ready with a reprimand and a snarky remark.

Jason grinned up at him, still blissfully cheerful and thirteen. “Hey B! Steph said that I needed to see this new movie, and Cass said you liked it a lot, so I should see if you wanted to join us?”

Jason had never gotten to meet Cass or Steph. Jason had never met Tim or Damian, or Wendy or Tam Fox, or any of the hundreds of super heroes who had emerged since his death. Those opportunities, those relationships, those friendships, had been stolen away from him by the Joker.

But here he was, wearing Steph’s yellow scarf around his neck, and beaming ear to ear. It was painful to look at. _This is what should have been_.

Bruce couldn’t look at him. “Sorry, uh, I have a meeting,” he managed, hating the past, hating the present, hating _himself_. He closed the door in his son’s face.

* * *

The future was so weird, Jason decided, watching Cassandra and Tim. Tim was stretching, preparing for a fight. Cass, on the other hand, was standing on her hands, looking bored. Steph was sprawled out on the floor of the cave, staring at pictures of internal organs and eating popcorn.

Jason bounced on the balls of his feet, curious. He wanted to see these newbies (who’d probably been in the field longer than he had) in action. He’d seen the scars on Cass’s legs and Tim’s arms, but he wanted to see them _really_ move. (He wondered if future-him had helped train them, like Babs helped Bruce train _him_. He wondered who was his favorite, who was the one he confided in, which was the one he patrolled with when they needed to partner up.)

Jason had gotten to talk to Babs briefly this morning, when Steph had “Skyped” her. She’d cut her hair, Jason had noticed, and started to straighten it, so it fell into a neat bob. She’d switched out her contacts for thick rimmed glasses, which made her look a whole lot like a librarian, which, he supposed, was accurate enough. She’d been happy to talk to him, but like the others, had been very unhelpful about future-Jason’s location.

“When do I get to meet you?” He asked Steph, glancing down at the blonde. He hoped it was soon. Steph seemed fun; she fought vampires and made waffles and knew about baseball. And it would be nice to have someone closer to his age out in the field. Or... at least Jason assumed she was closer to his age. He didn’t actually know how old Steph was, or future-Jason. He tucked that piece of information away to ask about later.

Steph looked like... well, like a street rat caught stealing the tires off the Batmobile. “Uh... um... well, not for a while,” she said, twirling her pencil between her fingers. “We... we only met recently.”

Jason felt his stomach plunge in disappointment. “Oh.” He hadn’t realized Steph was so new to the business. Then he remembered the way that her arms and hands were scarred. She couldn’t be _that_ new. “Why?” He slipped into Bruce’s chair, feeling safe in the familiar space. He glanced, curiously at the class case with the old version of the Robin costume contained within it. He wondered if there was one for the Discowing suit as well, or if Alfred had finally followed through with his threat and burned that monstrosity.

Steph shrugged, clearly uncomfortable about... something. Jason’s brow furrowed in confusion, watching the way that the blonde shifted under his gaze. “I don’t really know,” she said carefully, as trepid as if she was walking through a boobytrapped hallway. “Our areas.. I guess they just didn’t overlap.”

“You’re not from Gotham?” Jason blurted unthinkingly. He stopped afterwards, angry with himself for failing to actually think. He could hear Crime Alley in her voice, grating her “r”s and drawing  out her “o”s. Jason spoke like that too, although Alfred’s influence was starting to soften it. Batman had it too, although the deep growl made it hard to tell.

“Oh no!” Steph laughed, “No, Gotham Girl born and bred. We just.... patrolled different areas.”

There was something very wrong with that. He found it hard to believe that separate patrol areas could keep him from meeting her, especially if Bruce trusted her enough to let her into the Cave... unless that was a recent thing? He frowned, confused. The future was an enigma, and not even the kind like the Riddler liked to throw around, the fun, easy to solve kind.

His attention was drawn away by Cass lunging at Tim. The Asian girl was a blur of movement, attacking with beautiful precision. Jason boggled as the girl, who was almost as small as he was, send Tim flying across the room.

“Again?” She asked innocently, smirking.

“Yeah yeah,” Tim muttered, getting up. “You’re lucky you’re my sister.”

Cass grinned. “Thirty seconds?” She offered, her smile mischievous.

Jason decided that if Cass wasn’t future-his favorite, future-him was an idiot.

* * *

Cass liked small-Jason. She’d had very little experience with big-Jason, but she knew enough of the stories to know that he wasn’t very nice, or very trust worthy.

But this Jason... this was the boy that Bruce had told her about. Who liked chilidogs and neapolitan ice cream and baseball and was earnest and sweet and scared and _good._

And who had nightmares.

Nightmares were not uncommon in the house of the Bats. They all had them, and they all had their own ways of dealing with them.

Dick dreamed of falling, of losing the ones he loved, unable to save them, of dark nights on rooftops when he couldn’t move, and of burying his family. He dreamed of rows of graves and broken trapezes, of blood and screams and tears. He had stuffed animals which he clung to, although Cass officially didn’t know about that.

Tim dreamed of failure, of causing the deaths of his family and friends. He dreamed of failing the Mission, of sending his friends off to die. Tim tossed and turned and sweated, but he never ever cried out, and he dealt with it using coffee and silence. He was like Bruce there.

Steph dreamed of the Black Mask, of failing, of not being good enough. She dreamed of a Batcave closed to her, of turned backs, of incompetence. She came to life at night, screaming and crying. Her light would be on early in the morning, reading or watching TV or training desperately and frantically, not willing to fail again.

Damian’s dreams were unknown to Cass, but she knew the boy had them. She could hear him crying out in night, a simple, heartbreaking plea. _“Father_...” He would go to Dick after that, although both of them pretended he didn’t.

Cass dreamed of her kills. Each one, in perfect, excruciating detail. Bullets, blades, fists; drug induced and not. Each sin replayed, night after night.

She had thought she was the only one who dealt with it like this.

But Jason Todd, caught with his hands in the freezer and a guilty expression on his face, clearly also felt that ice cream was the answer to nightmares.

Clearly, he expected to be reprimanded, but Cass just looked at him and asked. “Is there chocolate left?”

He blinked, nodded, and handed over the carton. Cass smiled, and sat down next to him at the kitchen table, the two of them and their tubs of ice cream.

“Bad dreams?” She asked.

He stabbed his ice cream with his spoon, mouth twisted slightly. “Yes.”

Cass considered asking him what they were about, but decided against it. Not only did she not want the question returned, but she wasn’t sure if Jason would trust her enough to tell her. She wondered what a boy his age would have nightmares about. She actually knew very little about Jason’s life before Bruce, beyond the vague stories that involved tires and the streets... and maybe drug dealers? She was a little unclear on that.

The faint light of the moon creeping in through the window threw Alfred’s kitchen into perfect shadows, but it wasn’t enough to hide the dark circles under Jason’s eyes, nor the puffiness, nor the redness of his nose. He’d been crying.

Cass wished she was good in situations like this, but she was hardly acclimated to having to deal with things like upset time travelling kids, so she thought that her idea of patting him on the back, ruffling his hair, and then trying to steal a spoonful of his ice cream was a pretty good idea.

* * *

Jason knew snobs. He saw them all the time at Gotham Academy. Rich brats with numbers fastened to their names and trust funds and net values and designer sneakers that could feed a Crime Alley family for a month.

Jason knew snobs. He knew harmless snobs and snooty snobs and well meaning snobs and pseudo-altruistic “give me attention for pretending to be a decent human being” snobs. And Damian was, undoubtedly, a snob. Not as bad as some of the others, but he still was a ball of rage and superiority. And, more importantly, was still a snob. He wasn’t soft, far from it. He knew how to fight, he knew that the world was a dangerous place, which Jason could respect. But...

He was a stick in the mud. Robin was _not_ supposed to be a stick in the mud.

Someone needed to teach the kid to lighten up.

“What’s up?” He asked, leaning back in the chair, smiling his most annoying grin.

That ought to do it.

* * *

Tim walked into the Cave, and then froze, staring blankly at the scene in front of him.

Jason and Damian were rolling around the floor of the Cave, punching and pinching and yelling and hair pulling and generally screaming insults that ranged of shrieks of ‘peon’ and ‘insufferable imbecile’ (Damian) to ‘your mother was a hamster and your father smelled of elderberries’ (Jason).

“Do I want to know?” Tim finally asked, just as Jason put Damian into headlock and began to aggressively noogie him.

“Probably not!” Jason said over Damian’s indignant grunts and furious protests.

Tim debated separating them as Damian threw Jason over his head. The second Robin hit the ground with a rather spectacular _thud_ , then tackled Damian’s legs, sending the boy crashing to the floor himself. Tim sighed, making up his mind. They probably were going to damage the Cave at the rate they were going. He grabbed Jason, dragging him away from Damian. Jason was nursing cuts, scrapes and bruises, but the grin he shot up at Tim was eager and cheerful. Tim’s stomach twisted as he remembered capturing that smile on camera, and how long it had been since he’d seen it.

“Damian, you should go talk to Alfred,” Tim said, hoping that Damian wouldn’t simply just attack the two of them. Damian was in about the same shape as Jason, although the older boy had deliberately targeted Damian’s expensive shirt--it was now missing a sleeve. Damian fixed a glare on both of them, but stomped upstairs nevertheless, muttering rude words in Arabic.

“What happened?” Tim asked, trying to be stern with Jason. He went and grabbed Alfred’s medical kit, knowing that they’d probably be needing Bandaids at the very least.

Jason flashed his widest shit-eating grin. “I told him he needed to lighten up!”

Somehow, Tim doubted that was the whole story. But in the meantime, he settled for trying to fix up Jason a little bit before Bruce (or, more likely, Alfred) laid down the law.

“How old were you?” Jason asked, breaking Tim out of his thoughts.

“What?” Tim blinked, staring down at the Superman bandaid he was in the process of placing on one of the nastier cuts on Jason’s cheek (never let it be said that Alfred had no sense of humor). “Sorry, what was that?”

Jason shrugged, looking slightly shrunken in Tim’s clothes (the boy had been too big for Damian’s clothes, but Tim had some old ones that still could fit Jason. Tim had never been very large, but the clothes still dwarfed Jason.)  “I just wondered how old you were when you started working with B.”

Tim’s throat tightened slightly. “Ah, I was about your age.” _Please don’t ask, please don’t ask_...

“How old was I?”

Tim froze up. “Ah, I’m not entirely sure,” he said vaguely. “It was... ah... you know, I’m not sure.”

Jason squinted at him, his mouth twisting downwards, as if he had an unpleasant thought. “How... how old am I--the other me, not me me, I know how old me me is--how old is he?”

The words that Tim thought next were unprintable, or at the very least needed to be replaced with colorful symbols.

Jason’s age was indeterminate at best, since, well, he’d died. The Lazarus Pit also had the potential for throwing off aging estimates, and _no one actually knew when he’d come back to life_. Unless Bruce had known all along, but hadn’t told anyone. Which was possible. But the files on Jason Todd still listed his resurrection as a mystery, much to Tim’s ire. He’d figure it out one day. But in the meantime, he had a thirteen year old version of one of his least favorite people on the planet looking at him with something that wasn’t quite suspicion, but was dangerously close to it.

“Twenty, I think,” Tim said. Jason Todd had been born then, at least, although it didn’t take into account everything else. But it was a truthful answer.

But Jason’s mouth stayed put, and his eyes didn’t blink as he stared at Tim’s face. He nodded though. Slowly.

Tim’s stomach gave a slight twinge. This probably wasn’t going to be good.

* * *

Jason crept into the Batcave, sliding into the computer seat as stealthily as he could. The others were all out in the field, except Alfred, of course. But Alfred’s show was on tonight, so he’d told Alfred he’d be in bed (which usually meant that he’d be in the library), and Alfred had nodded and told him goodnight. He felt guilty, lying to Alfred, but...

They were hiding something from him. All of them.

Look, Jason’s not the brightest. His grades are, while not awful for a Crime Alley Kid, still pretty sub-standard. He’s not smart like Babs, or Bruce, not even above average like Dick. He’s overheard Babs and Bruce talking back home often enough to know that while he might be just as good as Dick in some areas (never better, of course. Can’t beat what’s perfect), he’s not up to Bruce’s standards for detective work. But that doesn’t mean he’s _stupid_. They all stare at him like he’s a ghost, like he’s going to vanish if they blink. They dance around his questions, all of them conspiring to distract him, hoping that his questions just _stop_. He’s not even sure if they’re aware they’re all doing it. They won’t tell him where he is, or what his code name is, or what the future Jason is even _like_.

Something is very wrong about the future, and Jason is going to find out what it is.

He presses on the keyboard, and the computer screen flares to life. It requires a password, since Bruce locked it before he left.

Now Jason wasn’t a hacker. Not at all. But he knew that each member of the family had a passcode, and if he could guess future his...

Well, first, let’s see how lazy he was.

**supermanrox**

_INCORRECT_ blazed across the screen in big red letters, since subtlety was for the weak.

Well, okay, so future him wasn’t still using the same password eight years later. Hmmm...

**tirejackerboy**

**thenewandimprovedrobin**

**prideandprejudice**

Jason sighed. He only had a guess left, before he got locked out and Bruce would see it, and he’d know Jason had been snooping, and Jason wouldn’t even have anything to show from it...

He sighed. In for a penny, right?

**chilidogs**

The screen changed, opening up to the familiar layout, even if it had been slightly changed. He grinned, and went right to the search bar.

**Jason Todd**

The file was _huge_. Jason frowned, but clicked it nevertheless. He knew Bruce was paranoid, and he kept everything. That was probably it.

The picture featured was that of a tall, muscular man. His hair was black, with a single white streak falling into his face. He wore a read domino mask, and seemed to have a red helmet tucked under one arm. He wore a leather jacket, with some sort of dark undershirt beneath it. He... didn’t look very happy. Jason tore his eyes away from the picture to look at the information accompanying it.

**Jason Peter Todd**

**Current Alias:** The Red Hood, John Doe

 **Past Aliases:** Robin, Nightwing, Red Robin, Batman

 **Threat Level:** Extremely High (Knowledge of Secret Identities and Locations, Advanced Combat and Weapons Training, Mental Instability, Connections to Talia al Ghul, Lazarus Syndrome [see history for details])

 **Designation:** Enemy

 **Current Location:** Arkham Asylum, Patient 35719083, Security Level 10 [cell video feed available]

Below that was another picture--a mug shot. A mug shot of a scarred, angry man, with cruel blue-green eyes and a dark smile. His hair was buzzed short, bright red--even though the dark roots were visible when one looked closely. He was muscled, dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit, and looked right at the camera, as if mocking the person looking at him. He held the plate with his prison number proudly, his hands scarred. He looked like...

He looked like Willis Todd.

He scrolled down, hoping to see something that would contradict what he was seeing. ( _Arkham Asylum Cell 635 **he was in Arkham**_ ). There was a criminal record. ( _Connections to Talia al Ghul--the League of Assassins **he was a killer**_ ). A training history ( _he’d killed all his trainers **he was a murderer**_ ). A trial transcript. ( _He’d **laughed** during the trial **what was wrong with him?**_ ) There was a _kill count_. ( _He was a villain, he was a **villain** , he was supposed to be the **hero** , he was supposed to save people_). Arkham Asylum. The Red Hood. A picture of a gravestone, with his name on it. An analysis of a casket, a detailed analysis of the Lazarus Pit.... He didn’t understand. He _didn’t understand_. There was a long and detailed description of medications and treatments, and a long list of doctors who had tried to treat... _him_.

 _Arkham_. Jason wanted to wake up. He had to be having a nightmare, he _had to be having a nightmare_. He wanted to wake up and go find Bruce-- _his_ Bruce, not this strange Bruce with a houseful of kids, _his Bruce_ , and _his_ Alfred-- _he wanted this not to be real_. It _couldn’t_ be real, because... he wouldn’t... he’d never... that’s why he was _Robin_. Robin couldn’t be _bad_ , Robin was _good_... that’s why he’d become Robin, so he would never have to be like that!

Jason realized that he was crying.

If even being Robin couldn’t save him...

No wonder Bruce couldn’t look at him. No wonder Damian didn’t trust him. No wonder Steph didn’t know him, and Tim didn’t want to talk to him and why...

He was bad. he was a failure. He was just like... just like his father, just like _Willis_.

He was crying hard now, knees pulled up against his chest as he screamed into the fabric of his jeans. _No no no no no no no no no no no no no no_

Bruce had tried _so hard_ to make him good, to help him, but he’d _failed_. No wonder Dick, back home, hated him. He’d known, somehow, that Jason was going to screw up, turn evil _kill people_.

Jason squeezed his eyes shut, hoping Alfred didn’t come down. He’d...

God, what would Alfred think?

Jason stared at the screen unable to focus properly because of the water in his eyes.

He spun the chair around, staring at the glass case of the Robin costume-- _his_ Robin costume.

He needed to know.

He needed to understand.


	2. Learn to Fly

Jason Todd sat in a visiting room, curious, despite his best efforts. He licked his lips, staring at the empty expanse of glass on the other side of him.

He was handcuffed to the table, handcuffed well enough that he couldn’t just slip the cuffs. Which sucked, since his nose itched. A lot. He shook his head slightly, his hair (bright red--the dye he’d “convinced” a prison guard to smuggle in for him was useful) falling into his face. He blew it away, irritated. The guards were gone, having left him alone, which meant that someone had hacked the system to tell them to do that. It had happened before, whenever...

The lights flickered off. Then on again. No one was there. Or so it seemed.

An arrogant smirk played on the edge of Jason’s mouth. “Which one?” He called out, knowing they could hear him. He tried to think of anything he’d been doing lately that could have attracted their attention. It’s not like this would be a social call--none of them ever visited for the sake of visiting. He didn’t think breaking Dent’s leg in the yard the other day was enough to qualify a visit, and there wasn’t anything else that he’d been doing lately... unless they figured out something he’d done ages ago?

Maybe it was a birthday.

“You the Red Hood?” A voice he couldn’t quite place asked. It was quiet, but it was still identifiably a prepubescent boy. Not the al Ghul brat, though. Hmmmm...

“What’s it to you?” he asked, eyes darting around the room, searching for the other speaker.

The lights flickered again, and when the light returned, someone was standing in the middle of the room.

Jason shot to his feet, pulling at the handcuffs as hard as he could, the metal digging into the flesh of his wrists.

The boy who stood in the center of the room had long dark hair and wore a hauntingly familiar outfit. His hands were on his hips, and he looked terrified and furious at the same time.

“ _You_.” Jason snarled, his nostrils flaring. “What’s this, some sort of fucking trick? Did Bruce put you up to this?” He yanked the handcuffs again, but they stayed firm, forcing him to stay hunched over as he glared at the image of his younger self.

The kid stared at him. “You _are_ me,” he muttered, his voice low. He took in Jason, with his orange jumpsuit and his scars and his hair with masked eyes. Something broke on his face, although Jason couldn’t place what it was for the life of him.

Jason laughed. He threw his head back and laughed, shoulders shaking as he stood there, hunched over and handcuffed, faced with a vision of his past. “Bet Bruce _loved_ this, that bastard,” he rasped when he finally could breathe again.

The young Jason clenched his fists tightly, looking like he wanted to hit Jason, despite the bulletproof glass that separated them.

* * *

Steph raced along the skyline of Gotham, laughing as Cass skimmed the rooftops beside her. They leapt across the gap between the buildings in unison, Steph tucking into a somersault to prevent a sprained ankle, while Cass plunged forward recklessly.

Cass suddenly lunged forward, her bandaged hand clasping around Steph’s gloved wrist. Steph paused, turning towards her friend.

There was a pause when they looked at each other.

A familiar, mischievous grin stole onto Cass’s face. “Tag.” She released Steph’s wrist and ran away, cape flowing in the dramatic wind.

Steph beamed, tearing after her best friend with a light heart. “Oh no you _didn’t_!” She yelled. They hadn’t done this in _years_. Not since before Black Mask. She leapt forward, her own cape flying out.

Her combat boots pounded the roofs as she raced after Cass, feeling the familiar joyful buzz flowing through her veins. So much had changed since Cass had been Batgirl and she had been Spoiler, but some things still felt _right_.

She lunged forward, tackling Cass and sending the two of them sprawling across the roof, laughing.

“I’ve missed this,” Steph said.

“Hong Kong... not the same,” Cass said quietly. “Family feels right.”

Steph nodded in agreement. Suddenly she froze, hearing a crashing sound in the alley below. She and Cass exchanged conspiratorial glances, and then crept to the edge of the roof.

Sure enough, some thick-headed thug had decided that tonight was a good night to try to commit some crime. Steph and Cass shared an evil grin, and then leapt off the edge.

Picture this.

The night sky was cloudy but dark, lit up by the faint glow of the Batsignal, alerting the entire city to the fact that the Batman walked the streets. The alley’s concrete pavement was cracked and stained, the walls ancient and worn bricks. The alley smelled of human waste and the rather large dumpster that was pressed against the wall.

A Gotham Police officer threw another punch. The child, a thin, ragged looking kid of less than thirteen years old, fell to the ground, spitting blood onto the pavement. “I don’t got--” She tried to say, dark eyes wide in fear as the officer swung his foot back, the toes of his boots connecting with her midriff. She curled up, trying to protect her stomach, gasping for breath as tears started to appear in her eyes. “Please,” she rasped.

“You little--” The officer said, preparing to kick her again. A hand grabbed his foot suddenly, stopping him in his tracks. He turned around, furious. “Mind your own damn--” He froze, panic flashing across his face, blanching his skin and making his eyes bulge. His mouth hung open, giving him the rather unpleasant appearance of a very pale fish that was in dire need of water. Also, who was balding.

“Bad,” Black Bat said, glaring. She twisted her hand, and his whole body flipped, his face colliding with the concrete ground. Batgirl landed on the other side of the police officer, her cape flaring out, shielding the girl from his view.

“You might want to run,” Batgirl added helpfully over her shoulder. “Go to Doctor Leslie. She’ll look after you.”

The little girl scrambled to her feet and ran away, her thin sneakers loud as she dashed towards what would hopefully be Doctor Leslie’s Clinic.

“Now look,” Batgirl crouched to where the officer was laying on the ground. “We don’t want any trouble. It looks bad to be beating on cops.”

The man made a garbled noise that probably translated to something unprintable. Cass stepped on his hand casually. He let out a yelp of pain and yanked his hand back.

“Consider this your warning!” Batgirl grinned manically, her eyes gleaming brightly behind her mask. “If we catch you again, we tell Poison Ivy that you’ve been screwing around with kids.” She leaned close to the officer, as if confiding a close and personal secret. She dropped her voice to a stage whisper, her eyes darting back and forth dramatically. The man stared up at her in shock, still white as a sheet. “And between you and me...” She patted the officer on the shoulder, still grinning. “I don’t think she’ll give you a warning.”

The two of them took off into the night, capes fluttering in the breeze.

“Good one,” Steph said, holding out her hand for a high five. Cass examined it briefly, before reaching out and tentatively slapping it with her own bandaged hand.

“Fist bumps better?” Steph asked, grinning crookedly. Cass rolled her eyes, taking a step away. Steph laughed, throwing her arm over Cass’s shoulders. She shook her head, long blonde hair tumbling over her shoulder.

“Miss Cassandra? Miss Brown?” Alfred’s voice was in their ears, and they leapt to attention, instantly on alert.

The Oxford man sounded tense, which instantly made Cass raise her hackles in preparation.

“We’re here, Alfred. What’s wrong?” Steph asked, mouth a thin, worried line. Alfred rarely went on the communication lines during patrol. He was their field medic--he knew better than anybody how dangerous being distracted in the field could be.

“Young Master Jason is missing,” Alfred said. “You two are the closest to the cave, would you mind...”

“Not at all,” Steph said, shooting Cass a concerned look. Cass nodded solemnly, concern etched on her features. If Jason was missing... “We’ll be there.”

* * *

The journey back to the cave was quick, but stressful. A thousand scenarios ran through Steph’s head, and each one was worse than the last. Steph leaned forward on her motorcycle, her hair pulled tightly into the purple helmet that she wore, her cape flying out behind her as she and Cass zipped along the winding road that lead to Wayne Manor.

Steph pressed the button on the handle of her bike as they approached the entrance, holding her breath as she did every time. The door swung open, and they slowed down. Steph parked her bike next to one of the older cars.

Alfred was waiting for them, frowning. “Master Jason told me he would be in the library. But I believe he might have snuck into the cave.”

“Did you check his spot?” Cass asked, tilting her head slightly. “In the attic.”

Steph and Alfred stared at her. Cass shrugged. “I found it once. I was bored.”

“I will search the attics,” Alfred said, his worry lines stark on his face. “Please check the security log though. I’ll let you know if he’s not there.”

“Thanks Alfred,” Steph said, nodding. The elderly Englishman left at a slightly-faster than normal pace, leaving the two girls alone in the cave.

“Can you log in?” Steph asked Cass. “I bet we can see what Jason was looking at. Also, we need the security feed.”

“Can’t you...?” Cass trailed off, gesturing to the keyboard and computer, her brow furrowing as she looked at Steph.

Steph shrugged awkwardly, pulling her cowl off as she did so. Her hair, caught by the static electricity of the movement, frizzed, random strands standing up in all directions. She looked away from Cass, looking blankly over her shoulder instead. “Ah, I...” She cleared her throat. “That is, I, uh. _Don’t have a login_.”

Cass stared, eyes almost comically wide. “What?”

“ _Henevergavemeone_ ,” Steph said rapidly, heat rising to her cheeks and ears in embarrassment. “Look, I just count myself lucky my code for the Cave is still valid. I’m not about to go pushing...” _Not again_. It went unsaid, but it hung in the room. Cass looked away, ashamed, remembering her own behavior during that time.

_“You think he’s **right** , don’t you?” Steph had asked, the old Spoiler costume fluttering in the Gotham Wind. Hurt, pain, betrayal, fear, loneliness were all clear in Steph’s body language. _

“Steph...” Cass began.

“Not now, Cass,” Steph said quickly, waving away her concerns with a literal wave of her hand. “Right now, we’ve got a lost kid to find.”

 _Why didn’t Babs give you a login_? Cass wanted to ask, but she didn’t. Steph’s wounds were still fresh, despite the years that had passed, despite the amendments that had been made. A new costume, a now open door... none of that really made up for the anger, the bite, the rejection that had patterned the past. It might balance out in the future, but it had still been wrong. Cass could see that now.

Cass quickly typed her username and passcode.

“He didn’t exit out,” Steph breathed, staring up at the screen.

“That’s...” Cass began, looking in horror at what she was seeing.

“B’s profile on him. Yeah.”

“Shit.” Cass said simply.

“Well said, Cass,” Steph said. “Pull up the security feed, we need to see how he reacted.”

Cass navigated to the necessary feed quickly, grateful for Babs’ lessons. “Here,” she said.

They watched the video together. Steph breathed out. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” She asked.

“Arkham?” Cass said.

“Arkham.”

* * *

“You  _bastard_ !” The younger Jason yelled. “You ruined  _everything_ , you broke--”

“There was nothing left to break!” Jason threw his head back and laughed again, tugging on his handcuffs uselessly. The ghost of himself shook furiously, on the verge of breaking. Jason imagined what it would be like to hit him; that warped mirrored version of himself, that illusion of his past. Already, the kid was stretched thin, the broken monster within peeping up between the cracks in the armor, peering out. Jason wondered how long the kid could keep pretending that he was whole, that those cracks weren’t there, that everything was alright. Jesus, how old had he been, back when he could still pretend?

Suddenly, the ghost was there, pounding on the glass barrier that separated them. He was crying, sobs heaving his tiny chest as he punched the only thing that separated him from his older counterpart. “We had a _family_ , we had a _home_. We had a _chance_. Bruce--”

“He didn’t care!” Jason screamed, the words ripping at his throat. He had to stop this. That awful version of himself, the one that still believed, still had hope, those buried thoughts, personified in this hallucination. He needed to stop this. That fucking belief in people and _Bruce_ had gotten him killed. He could not afford this again. He yanked at the manacles on his wrists once more, finally noticing that he was bleeding, that his hands were stained red again. He pushed on, anyways, shoving the pain into a corner of his brain. “He never did! He’s a liar and a coward and--”

“Shut up!” The younger boy yelled, livid, punching the glass furiously as he punctuated his furious shouting, tears streaming down his face. “ _Shut up shut up shut up_ \--”

There was a shatter of glass, and the boy’s fist broke through the pane, glass shards cutting at his skin like a thousand tiny knives. The boy yelled in pain, jerking backwards, away from Jason and the glass. He fell to the ground, his furious sobs shaking his whole body. He curled in on himself, his cape covering him like a blanket. There was silence for a moment.

Then with a mighty _crack_ , Jason dislocated his thumb. With a familiar twist, assisted by the blood on his hands, the handcuffs fell away, clattering on the counter. Jason swung his feet up onto the counter, before leaping through the now broken barrier, with one intention in mind.

The boy spotted him and tried to get to his feet, his arm still bleeding due to the shards of glass, but Jason was faster. He punched the younger boy in the face, sending him sprawling on the floor again. The boy tried to push himself up, his face showing the early signs of bruising. His lip was split open.

“He never cared!” Jason yelled, grabbing him by the colorful tunic and hauling him upright. The boy grabbed at Jason’s hands and tried to get free, but Jason was bigger, stronger, and more trained than him, and his grip was firm. “He wouldn’t even _avenge us_! Did they tell you that? Did they tell you how you’d die, with the blood in your eyes and a collapsed lung, and _thinking that Bruce would save you_?” He slammed the brat into the floor, raising his fist and punching him in the face again.

The boy slammed his foot into Jason’s solar-plexus, sending Jason flying off him, crashing into the remains of the barrier. The glass tore at Jason’s skin and clothes, blood dripping into his eye from the gash on his eyebrow. Suddenly the brat was on top of him, crying and punching Jason’s face. “We could have been good!” The boy yelled, slamming his fist into Jason’s face. There was a white explosion of pain and Jason let out an unwilling grunt--the brat had broken his nose. Jason reached up and grabbed Robin’s throat, his fingers digging into the boy’s skin.

“We never had a chance,” he hissed, standing up. The boy tried to struggle, but Jason only tightened his grip. He tried to kick Jason, but Jason held the boy out at arm’s length, out of his reach. “And Bruce never _gave_ us a chance.” He threw the boy across the room, where he slammed into the wall and crumpled on the ground, gasping for breath. Jason moved forward, each step slow and purposeful as he walked toward the younger self.

The boy got to his feet and tried to run away, but Jason knew every trick that boy knew, had had them beaten out of him by dozens of mentors over the years, and he knew how to stop them. His foot snaked out, curling around the boy’s ankles, and sent him crashing to the floor again. The boy let out a cry of pain, and Jason wondered how long he had left until the guards heard and came to stop him. Then he remembered where he was. He had time.

“He replaced us!” He said, stalking towards the other boy. He shook with rage, blood smeared across his face.. The cuts on his wrists were deep, the blood dripping onto his hands. Tiny cuts patterned his arms and face, although none of them were bleeding heavily. “He didn’t care, he just buried us, and then went off and found a replacement before we were even cold in the ground!” His foot collided with the boy’s ribs. The prison shoes weren’t particularly good for fighting, but Jason could pack  lot of weight behind it. The boy let out a whimper of pain, eyes tightly closed. Jason grabbed the fabric of the cape and dragged the boy upwards. He hung there limply, his feet dragging on the ground.

“You’re... wrong...” the boy whispered. “He loves us. He’s... he’s our dad.”

Jason laughed, shaking his head. The sound was eerie, and Jason reflected, for a moment, just how unhinged he actually was. He comforted himself with the fact that this was probably just a dream. After all, he was fighting a younger version of himself. “You’re wrong kid. If he ‘loved us’, would he leave me in here to rot? Would he have _cut my throat to save to Joker_?”

The boy froze, masked eyes wide. “No,” he whispered, but his eyes went to Jason’s throat, where the scar was visible. A clean, thick line, made by a Batarang. A final gift from Bruce.  

“Yeah. That’s right. In his mind, I’m just the fuck-up from Crime Alley. The greatest mistake of his life. Once he realized I wasn’t Dick Grayson, that I was _broken_ ,” his voice dropped low, and he knew that his words were causing more damage than anything he could possibly do to the kid physically. “He dropped us. He already knows you’re broken, kid. He’s seen what I’ve become. He knows what’s going to happen to you. You’re just like me.”

The ghost-child shook his head, although he was crying again. “No. No. _Nononononononono_.”

“Hey asshole!” A purple glove punched him in the face. Jason stumbled back, losing his grip on the Robin’s cape. Something swung into his stomach and he doubled over. Steel toed-boots _hurt_.

He looked up, his vision swimming. But he could easily make out two distinct figures. One a blonde in a purple Batgirl costume... the other a dark haired woman with bandaged hands and a scary expression. The scary one was checking up on the brat, cradling his head in her hands and saying something that Jason couldn’t quite hear over the pounding of his blood in his ears.

His vision focused for a second.

This was real. Jason felt as if the ground was trying to swallow him up. He couldn’t breathe. The boy was real. Everything was real.

He straightened up slowly, staring at the girls. He towered over both of them, the blonde being about five-foot-six and the dark haired one even shorter than that.

In the background, he could hear the Joker laughing, taunting him. He clenched his fists, broken fingernails digging into the calloused skin of his palms. The world swum in his vision, warping faces within his mind. He watched, fascinated and horrified, as the color drained away from everything. The purple seeped out of the new Batgirl’s outfit, leaving behind greys and blacks. He glanced down at his own hands, but the crimson blood remained, staining his skin. He returned his attention to Batgirl, whose hair was rapidly becoming paler and paler. He breathed through his nose, trying to keep his grip on reality. He was slipping again, the world becoming dangerously close to falling to pieces. He’d thought this was a dream. What was even real anymore?

Jason noticed that one of them was Batgirl. He wondered what Babs thought about that blonde wearing her costume, whether it ate at her the way Tim wearing the outfit had eaten at him. He wondered if she was even there, or if she was another product of his imagination.

“Take him home,” the dark haired girl said quietly, staring at Jason. He had the unusual feeling that he was being x-rayed--that somehow, this girl could see right through him and all of his barriers. He didn’t like it.  

The blonde turned her head to look at her friend, frowning. “But--”

“Take him home,” she repeated. “I’ll deal with Red Hood.”

Purple looked like she was about to protest, but the other shook her head, eyes not leaving Jason. The blonde scooped up the not-ghost in her arms and walked away, sending Jason one last glare before she exited the room. Jason let them leave, sinking to the floor.  

The dark haired girl walked over to him, kicked him lightly, and frowned. “You need help,” she said. There was something on her face that fell just short of kindness. It was concern, more like, and it felt out of place to Jason. He didn’t deserve her concern. He’d just... he’d just hurt a kid. He’d nearly _killed_ a kid.

An image, unbidden, came to Jason’s mind--the al Ghul brat in a hooded version of the Robin costume, bleeding. But that had just been a nightmare, hadn’t it? He wouldn’t have hurt a kid... he was better than that... wasn’t he? Jason clutched at his hair, trying to remember. It had been after Bruce... nothing had been clear then. Reality was fluid for him, blurring with dreams and nightmares and hallucinations. Talia, the last time she had visited, had commented on how his mental state was deteriorating. He wondered how long he had until there was no difference between reality and nightmares.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he whispered, holding his head in his hands.

 _That was real._ He felt sick, his gorge rising. He’d just... that kid... what had he done.

The girl knelt beside him. She actually looked concerned. Jason turned his head away, not wanting to look at her.

“The pills make it worse,” Jason finally said, staring at the floor. “It... everything... it helps with the nightmares, but reality is...”

“Not clear,” the girl said. “You thought... he was a nightmare.”

“Not the first time I’ve met the ghost of Christmas past,” Jason said quietly. “I’m not right. I haven’t been in a while. But...”

She touched his arm gently. Her eyes were kind. “Why... attack?”

“Robin’s hope,” he said. “I’m in Arkham. There isn’t hope here.”

She frowned, and she looked dangerous when she did so. Jason wondered if she’d finally attack him, and stop acting like he deserved her concern. He was in Arkham. He was broken, he was a monster. Why else would Bruce have just left him here? Surely, if he actually cared about Jason, he would have at least come to try to talk. But the only visits were business, and they usually ended up with more bruises and scars on Jason’s part. Jason tried not to lie to himself anymore.

“There’s always hope,” she said. “You... fixable.”

Jason laughed weakly. “I’m too broken,” he said. “Besides, they’ve all given up on me. Might as well do the same.”

She glared at him. “No!” She leaned in, glaring. “He never gave up on you. He just... bad at talking.”

Jason found himself laughing, a real genuine laugh, for the first time in months. His shoulders shook with mirth, shaking his head as he tried to stop laughing, but he found that he couldn’t. He just kept laughing, and she joined in, her small giggle an undertone to his own booming laughter. “Understatement,” he gasped, and _wow_ , he was crying with laughter, “Of. The. Century.”

* * *

The younger-Jason was  _light_ , Steph wondered, carrying the boy in her arms. He was crying faintly, tiny sobs audible. He’d started supporting himself finally, his arms around her neck, his face buried into the crook of her neck. She was grateful for the protection of her cape, since it protected her from tears and snot.

“Batgirl, report,” Bruce’s voice growled in her ear. Oops. Looked like Bruce had finally figured out that Steph and Cass had left patrol.

“Jason was at Arkham,” she said quietly. “Got him out but... well, he and the Hood did some damage to each other before Black Bat and I got there.”

There was a pause. “Injury report,” He snapped, but Steph had been around long enough to hear the concern in his voice.

“All superficial. Cuts and bruises. Nothing serious. But I think he broke Hood’s nose.” She shifted Jason’s weight slightly as she approached her motorcycle. “He’s upset, but I think he’ll recover.”

“You sure?” Bruce asked, and it was definitely Bruce, not Batman, who was asking.

“He’s a tough kid,” Steph said. “Besides. Crime Alley kids are made of tough stuff.” She shut off the comm line. “Hey kid. I’m gonna have to put you down. We’re going back to the cave.”

Reluctantly, Jason loosened his grip on her, and she set him down on the ground gently. The boy swayed slightly, but it looked like Steph’s diagnosis had been accurate. His injuries were light, and five minutes with Alfred would be more than enough to patch him up. The bruising would be bad, that was true--Steph could identify finger marks on his throat and a blossoming shiner on his jaw, but Steph had seen much worse.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me?” He asked, eyes red and the skin around them puffy. Steph reached out and stroked his hair, making soothing noises.

“We didn’t know how,” she admitted. “It’s... complicated.”

The kid crumpled onto the ground, looking up at her. He didn’t cry, but he looked completely miserable. “I screwed up didn’t I?” He asked quietly.

“ _No_.” Steph said firmly. “Look, kid...” She knelt beside him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “Yeah, you made mistakes, but we all do. That doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

Jason clenched the fabric of his cape tightly. “They always said I’d be no good,” he whispered brokenly.

Steph reared up, anger filling the pit in her stomach. “No. _No_. Kid,” she grabbed his chin and made him look at her. “No. You don’t listen to people like that. Where you come from doesn’t define you. Me? I was a screw-up from Crime Alley with a villain for a dad and a junkie for a mom. _Bruce_ told me I would never be a hero. That I didn’t have what it took.”

He stared at her, confused. “But... you’re _Batgirl_.”

“I wasn’t then. Everybody piled shit on me. Expectations, rules, tests... but I never let it stop me. I never let myself think, even for a _moment_ , that I was doomed. The minute you think you’re destined to be a bad guy, that’s the minute you stop caring and _start_ being a bad guy. So _fight_. Prove them wrong. And when you’ve won, rub it in their faces until they acknowledge that they’re wrong. You can be good. Just ‘cause that version of you ended up in Arkham doesn’t mean _you will_.”

He looked up at her. “You think so?”

“Nobody’s that broken, kid,” she said. “Even the Joker’s gotta have a universe or two in which he ends up a good guy. And you?” She poked him on the chest, right on the Robin badge. “You’re a lot better than him. Bruce wouldn’t have given you the costume if you weren’t.”

Jason threw himself forward, hugging her tightly. She patted his head. “Now. Let’s get back home, and then you can explain to Alfred where you’ve been.”

Jason blanched. “Can’t we just tell him I got kidnapped or something?” He asked hopefully.

“”You wanna try to lie to Alfred? Be my guest,” Steph said, mounting her motorcycle. Jason got on behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Jason sighed loudly. “I’m going to be in a lot of trouble, aren’t I?”

“Probably!” Steph said.

* * *

Everybody was waiting for them in the Batcave. Bruce was most visible, wearing the full Batsuit and radiating disapproval and worry, arms crossed.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said to Steph, glaring.

Steph crossed her arms. Jason was hiding behind her, grateful for the protection that her cape provided. “Cass and I handled it.”

“You could have said something.”

Steph raised an eyebrow. “And then you’d have screwed it up.”

Everybody froze, staring at Steph as if she’d dropped a bomb.

She threw her hands up in the air. “Seriously? Are we _really_ going to pretend that Bruce handles confrontations well _now_?”

Bruce held his chin high. “What are you trying to say, Stephanie?” His voice was icy and deep, the kind of Batman growl that made muggers wet their pants and supervillains yell for more mooks.

Steph crossed her arms, unperturbed by the expression and the voice. “I’m _saying_ that you’re shit with people. I’m _saying_ that you have the tact of a brick. I’m _saying_ that you’re crap with emotions, and that when confronted with two Jasons, you would not handle it well! What I’m _saying_ , Bruce, is that _you’re not always the right person for the job_!” Her hands moved to her hips.

“A little harsh, wouldn’t you say?” Dick asked, although he looked like he’d really enjoyed hearing that.

“Hey, I could have called him an emotionally-constipated asshole, but I figured I’d overused that when I was in Africa and cursing his existence,” Steph said with a shrug and a grin. Bruce’s glower deepened.

“Accurate though,” Tim muttered under his breath. “You okay Jason?”

“Fine,” Jason stuck his head out from behind Steph, revealing the cuts, scrapes, and bruises to the extended family.

Tim let out a low noise that was almost a growl, but also sounded vaguely like a hiss. Steph raised an eyebrow at him. “C’mon kid,” she said to Jason. “Let’s get you to bed.” She placed a firm hand on his back and propelled him out of the cave before the inevitable emotional conflict began. Alfred followed her, medical kit in hand and a grim expression on his face.

She steered Jason into the first bathroom outside of the cave. She scooped him up and deposited him on the counter, his long, bare legs dangling over the side. (Really, what _had_ Bruce, Dick, and Alfred been thinking,  designing a costume like that?) Alfred then opened the medical kit and began to dig out supplies, mouth a thin, disapproving line.

“Sorry Alfred,” Jason muttered, while the elderly butler began to pour rubbing alcohol onto a swab. Alfred passed it to Steph, who began rigorously cleaning the cuts on Jason’s face. “ _Ow_!” He whined, but didn’t move away. He’d undergone this routine often enough to know not to struggle.

Alfred let out the sigh of the long-suffering man who dealt with the Bat Clan’s issues on a day-to-day basis. “It’s quite alright, Master Jason,” he said. “Although, in the future, you might wish to reconsider breaking in to Arkham Asylum whenever you’re upset.”

“Noted,” Jason said, while Alfred inspected his ribs. “I don’t think they’re broken,” he said. “Just bruised.”

“I believe I will be the judge of that, Master Jason. Miss Stephanie, can you find the medical tape?”

Steph found it easily enough. Alfred kept his first-aid kits very well organized.

Luckily, Jason didn’t require too much attention. Once his cuts were clean and his ribs taped up, all that remained were bruises. “Alfred, do I have a change of clothes around here?” Steph asked.

“Indeed, Miss Brown,” Alfred said. “Your Gotham Knights T-Shirt, two pairs of jeans, and those canvas shoes you are so found of.”

“Good,” Steph said, although she’d had hope that she’d left a jacket at the Manor, but when she had stopped by the apartment that morning she had dropped it off, along with her laundry. It was a cold night, and it was a long ride home. She didn’t _want_ to make the trip home tonight, but she knew better than to expect Bruce being okay with her presence in the Manor after those comments. “They in the guest room?”

“Indeed, Miss Brown.”

“Thanks Alfred.” Impulsively, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. She grinned at him and dashed off.

The guest room was one of many, many, _many_ spare rooms in the Manor. It was near Cass’s, so it was the one where Steph slept in whenever she crashed there. She pushed open the door, fiddling with the clasp of her cape.

She changed quickly, wondering if she could borrow Tim’s jacket for the motorcycle ride home. He’d probably agree--he was always worried about road rash and things like that. She smiled to herself as she tied up the laces of her purple Converse shoes. Her smile faded as she thought about making her way through the Cave again to get to her bike. Maybe she would get lucky, and Bruce would have gone out again to take his frustrations out on unsuspecting muggers. She could hope.

She pulled the door open, only to freeze. Jason was there, wearing what appeared to be flannel pajamas, a concerned look on his face.

“Hey kiddo!” Steph said cautiously, wondering what he was doing. “What’s up?”

“Alfred said you were leaving?” He asked, looking upset.

She nodded, feeling at lost for what to say or do. She was not about to explain her and Bruce’s issues to Jason. She was not up for rehashing all of that bullshit, and she also didn’t want to insult the closest thing Jason had to a father any more than she had to. It was one thing to point out that Bruce, due to a combination of PTSD and pure stubbornness, had the emotional maturity of an eight year old. It was another entirely to inform Jason that Bruce was also a stubborn asshole and control freak who manipulated anyone and everyone around him. Mostly because Jason ought to be smart enough to figure that out himself. And also because he’d want specifics and Steph was too tired to explain her entire history.

“I don’t actually live here,” she said instead. “My mom wants me home tonight.”

Jason visibly deflated at that. “Oh.” His voice was small. She knelt down and hugged him. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” she promised, hoping Bruce wouldn’t lock her out of the Batcave. “But I really need to go.”

Jason nodded. “Okay.”

* * *

The Red Hood had been replaced in his cell already. Arkham’s less-than-stellar hospital ward had patched him up--his hands were wrapped in bandages and there was tape on his nose. He was sprawled on the cot in his cell, staring up at the ceiling blankly. He didn’t stir from his position as Bruce entered the cell, his arm tucked beneath his head.

“Bet you’re thrilled,” Jason finally said to Bruce, who was looming menacingly in the corner. “You finally get the version of me that you actually cared about. Maybe you won’t fuck up this time.” He let out a harsh, dry bark of laughter. “But I doubt it.”

“You could have killed him,” Bruce growled. No, that wasn’t Bruce, was it? It was Batman. The shadows in the room seemed longer, somehow, in his presence.

He wasn’t about to tell Batman about his slip-up. Even if Cain--that was the girl’s name, he had remembered it finally--told Batman, Jason wouldn’t.

“What, like you would care?” He asked instead, pretending it was rhetorical. _Would_ Bruce care if he’d killed that version of himself that hadn’t been broken? Bruce didn’t want him, didn’t want this cracked and broken model, but maybe he could care about the younger one, the one whose scars ran less deep and carried less anger--anger that Bruce never could understand, never even tried to. Bruce couldn’t understand Jason, he never had. He didn’t understand what it was like, to see the effects of crimes up close and personal. He’d never watched someone he loved spiral into addiction--never had to know, deep down, that it was his fault, if he hadn’t listened and just stopped buying the medicine, she would never have died. He’d never seen his neighbors get kicked out of their home because a mugger had taken the only money they had. He’d never seen a whole _building_ evicted because the rich men were at war with each other. He’d never seen the hungry kids so desperate they’d do anything for a meal. Bruce never understood the consequences; he never saw the human cost.

“I still care,” Batman said quietly, his voice almost gentle.

Jason laughed again, shaking his head, grateful for the pain in his arms that kept him grounded to reality. His head was clearer than it had been in ages, but for once he wished it wasn’t. “Do you tell yourself that to help you sleep?”

“Jason--”

“Get out.” Jason hissed, finally sitting up. He glared at Bruce, hating him. Hating that he’d left him there to rot, only visiting when Jason had fucked up, never caring. “Get out of here. I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

Suddenly, Batman was there, hauling Jason up by the scruff of his collar. “You attacked a child tonight,” he snarled, his teeth bared in a familiar terrifying expression.

“Fuck you,” Jason growled, shoving Batman away with all his might. Batman released his grip but remained close. Jason stood up fully, his full height even taller than Bruce. “You’ve made it clear you don’t want anything to do with me--”

“That’s not--”

“Shut up!” Jason yelled. “Stop _lying_ to me!”

Because Bruce had to be lying. There was no other explanation.

Suddenly, just four cells down, the Joker began to laugh.

Four cells separated the Red Hood and the Joker, two of Gotham City’s most dangerous criminals. Jason began to breathe faster, the world spinning as the familiar laughter began to echo through the halls of Arkham Asylum. _So tell me pumpkin_ \--

The cell seemed to shrink, the sounds bouncing around, crashing against his ears, deafening him to everything else. He stumbled backward, crashing against the bed painfully, and he threw up his hands to protect himself from whatever was coming.

He fell to the floor, struggling to breathe, phantom pain shooting across his limbs, the Joker’s laughter ringing in his ears. His eyes were shut, but the Joker was there too, laughing as he beat him, the crowbar crashing against him, breaking bones and--

“ _Jason!_ ” Suddenly, Bruce was there in the nightmare. Jason’s world twisted horribly, and then, he was no longer in the warehouse. He was in Arkham, and he wasn’t dying, the Joker wasn’t killing him, he was _safe_.

Bruce’s face was pale beneath the cowl, and he gripped Jason’s shoulders slightly too tight. He looked terrified, in a way Jason had never seen Bruce. He studied Jason’s face intensely, trying to see if Jason had broken free of the nightmare.

Jason gasped for air, filling his lungs desperately. He clutched at Bruce’s arms, not pushing him away for once. He was on his knees, face turned towards the floor. His prison garment was soaked in sweat, and his hands were cold and clammy. He was even paler than Bruce, every vein in his arms and face visible, stark blue beneath his translucent skin. He swallowed desperately as soon as he was able, hoping that he wouldn’t throw up. The salty taste of bile filled his mouth, but he held it down, the Joker’s laughter fading as looked up at Bruce.

“Every night?” Bruce asked quietly. There was something wrong about his face, about his voice, but it was still definitely Bruce. Jason wondered what was wrong, what Bruce had seen to change his expression like that. Had the reminder of just how broken  

Jason finally let go of Bruce, pushing himself against the nearest wall. He leaned his head back, resting it against the cold stone. He closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them, Bruce would be gone. “Every night. Every morning. Sometimes more often.”

There was a long, awful pause, and Jason thought that Bruce had left. A strange feeling filled his stomach, weighing it down. Part of him, despite everything, wanted Bruce to stay. He bit down on the instinct to call out, and kept his eyes firmly shut. He wouldn’t give Bruce anything. Not after the bastard had left him here in the first place.

Suddenly, there was a presence beside him. “I didn’t know.” Bruce’s voice was barely a hoarse whisper.

“Yeah well, it’s not like you ever checked up on me to find out.” Bruce winced. It was barely perceptible, but it was there. Jason felt strangely guilty about that, but he shoved it down. It was true. Bruce had never checked on him in person--unless something was happening in his precious city that could be linked back to the Red Hood.

Jason was tired. He just wanted to sleep. The anger, the bitterness, the fear were all drained away, leaving him feeling like an empty shell. He didn’t care about anything anymore, he found. He just wanted it to be over.

Suddenly, there was a hand on Jason’s arm. He looked up; straight into Bruce’s masked eyes. He glared half-heartedly, wondering what Bruce was thinking.

“I’m...” Bruce paused, and Jason realized, with a perverse sense of delight, that Bruce was lot for words. “I know I haven’t been a good parent.”

Jason felt like laughing again. _No shit_. What had been Bruce’s first clue? But Jason said nothing, waiting for Bruce to get to the point.

“I... I’m sorry Jason,” Bruce said quietly. “For everything. None of this... this isn’t what I wanted for you.”

Jason remained silent, seeing as that bit was a little obvious. The silence hung in the room, heavy and painful and terse.

“You need help, Jason,” Bruce finally said, his words soft and final sounding. They reminded Jason of the slamming of a door, of an end. Help could mean anything, really. But knowing Bruce... Jason tensed up, every inch of him screaming to get away while he still could. His eyes darted around the room, searching for a weapon, an escape, _anything_.

“I don’t need your help,” he snarled, pushing away Bruce’s hand and glaring. “You left me in here! With _him_!” Bruce flat out flinched, as if Jason had struck him. Fuck him. He didn’t get to act like that.

“Real help, Jason,” Bruce pled, his voice almost gentle, but Jason didn’t believe him for a second. Bruce lied. Everything about him was secrets and lies. Bruce reached out for him, for what purpose, Jason couldn’t imagine.

Jason got up, striding away from Bruce. “Leave me alone,” he hissed through his teeth, not wanting to look at Bruce and the damned Bat on his chest. The Joker started laughing again, and Jason felt the walls of his cell start to collapse on him, shrinking down to resemble the inside of a coffin. He stumbled, breathing heavily, trying not to fall apart again. Suddenly, there was a hand was on his shoulder. Instinctively, he punched, which would have sent anyone short of a Bat or a Superman sprawling on the ground.

“Fuck you!” Jason screamed, his voice hoarse and his chest tight. At least the walls were no longer closing in, and the Joker’s maniacal giggling was drowned out by Bruce’s presence. His face was wet. Bruce grabbed him, pulling him... was that supposed to be a hug? Jason tried to push him away, but Bruce’s grip was strong and Jason was shaking like a leaf, tremors wrecking his entire body. His knees gave out, and he collapsed into the awkward embrace. He let out a single sob, then weakly punched Bruce’s chest. His fist struck at the symbol. “Fuck you,” he repeated, his voice broken and small.

“I’ve got you,” Bruce said, cradling his son in his arms. “I’ve got you Jason.”

“You left me,” Jason whispered brokenly.

“I know and--and I’m--I’m sorry.”

* * *

Cass perched on the window-sill carefully, her weight shifted onto her toes. She crouched, peering through the glass into the room. She could see the younger Jason curled up on  his bed, clearly still awake. She rapped on the window gently. His head snapped up, eyes widening when he saw her. He rolled off the bed, landing on his feet, then ran to the window. He grabbed the bottom of the window and threw it open, stepping aside for Cass to enter.

Cass examined Jason. His eyes were red and puffy, but his face was dry and his nose was no longer running. He’d changed out of his Robin costume, wearing what appeared to be red flannel pajamas instead. Cass spotted the uniform discarded in one corner, the mask tossed across the room. Cass hugged Jason, lifting the small boy off his feet as she did so.

He hugged her back, hands balling up the material of her blue turtleneck. She set him down after a few seconds. He grinned up at her.

“Feeling better?” She asked him.

He looked down at the ground, smile fading away. “A bit,” he muttered.

Cass ruffled his hair. “Ice cream?” She suggested, smiling at him.

Slowly, Jason looked up. “Really?”

“Neapolitan?” She asked, holding out her hand.

Carefully, Jason took it.

* * *

Bruce returned to the Manor at four in the morning.

He crept through the hallways of the manor, not wanting to disturb the sleep of his children. He paused, hearing something from the living room.

“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it does.” He heard Jason’s voice. In the background, he heard the noise of a movie playing. He pushed open the door to the living room, expecting to see Jason alone.

Cass and Jason froze, Jason snuggled up against Cass, both of them with ice cream containers on their laps. Cass had a spoon in her mouth, and she stared at Bruce with huge eyes. The big screen TV in front of them played a movie that he vaguely remembered being one of Dick’s favorites.

“Hi?” Cass asked around the spoon of chocolate ice cream.

Jason shrunk against Cass, as if he thought Bruce would attack him. Cass’s arm went out across his shoulders, hugging him protectively. She glared at Bruce, as if she thought he was a threat. Bruce sighed, squaring his shoulders. “Cassandra, do you mind if I talked with Jason?” Cass simply remained where she was, posture firm. Bruce sighed. Cass was normally sweet and easy going, but when she was protective, she went all the way. “Alone?”

Glaring daggers at him, she cocooned Jason in blankets before getting to her feet, stalking out of the room dramatically. She threw Bruce one last, threatening glance before she slammed the door shut, leaving Bruce and Jason alone.

Bruce sat next to Jason. Jason stared at his melting multi-colored ice cream, not meeting Bruce’s glance.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce finally said. Jason’s head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise. “I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Bruce?” Bruce wasn’t entirely sure if his son was being sarcastic or not, and it stung. He shifted positions slightly, wishing that, just _once_ , he could have a conversation with Jason that didn’t make him feel so ridiculously unprepared. He was _Batman_. He was supposed to be prepared for anything.

“Jason.” He reached out, hoping that this conversation wouldn’t end with quite as much punching or crying as the previous one. Jason flinched, but allowed the contact, which was nearly as painful as the older Jason’s blows. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Jason drew his knees up to his chest, a difficult task in his cocoon of blankets.

Bruce took a deep breath. “Look, I... I know you’re upset.”

“World’s greatest detective.”

Bruce did not groan, roll his eyes, or wish for someone to take him out of his misery. He _did not_. “I... I make mistakes Jason. And when it comes to you... I make a lot of them. I try to protect you, and usually end up hurting you more. Sometimes I wonder if I should have let you be Robin, since it just seems to have given me even more opportunity to hurt you.” Bruce took a deep breath, not looking away from Jason. “And I’m not very good at admitting that. And when I do, I... I usually...” _Screw that up too_. “Don’t say it well. But the one thing I know I did right with you... was taking you in. And giving you a chance. And you did well with that chance.”

Jason turned to Bruce finally, eyes watery. He threw himself towards Bruce, leaving the blankets in his wake, wrapping his arms around Bruce’s torso and squeezing tightly. “Thanks Dad,” he whispered against Bruce’s chest. Bruce hugged his son back, and for a moment, he felt at peace.

* * *

“The data just finished processing,” Tim told Dick, down in the Batcave. Tim wore his overly large Superboy shirt. Dark circles surrounded his eyes, revealing to Dick just how badly his younger brother needed sleep. “I’ve identified where and when Jason came from.”

“And?” Dick asked, leaning against the console of the computer, stretching conspicuously so that his white undershirt rode up. Babs, who was involved in the conversation via a video-link, smirked at him. Dick smirked back.

“Alternate universe for sure,” Tim said, rubbing his forehead. “So him finding out about everything won’t disrupt the time stream.”

Tension evaporated from Dick. “We don’t need a mind wipe,” he said, relief dripping from his words. Babs sighed, clearly thankful.

“I’ll let Zatanna know,” she said, tapping her desk.

“I hate mind wipes,” Dick muttered, running his hands through his hair, causing it to stick up in all directions. The effect was somewhat similar to a porcupine.

“You need a haircut,” Babs told him absently. “We all do, Dick. That’s why the League doesn’t do them anymore.”

“We were willing to,” Tim said quietly, sinking back into the chair.

“No one was willing to risk a repetition of the Flashpoint incident,” Babs said, sounding like she was choking, in a way. There was the sound of metal hitting something, and Dick realized she’d hit her wheelchair.

Dick slumped, remembering how much they had nearly lost for good. “Go to bed, Tim,” he said.

“But I need to finish the calculations,” Tim groaned. “We need to get Jason home--”

“Shoo,” Babs waved her hands at Tim. “I’ll figure it out. Shoo. Sleep. Now.”

Tim stifled a yawn. Dick poked him in the side. “Sleeeeeep, Timmy. Sleep is good. Go find some.”

“Not tired,” Tim muttered, yawning again.

“Move it or I’m cancelling all your meetings tomorrow,” Babs ordered, a maniacal gleam in her eyes and a smirk on her lips.

“Hate you,” Tim grumbled, voice thick with sleep. He stumbled to his feet and exited the cave, dragging his feet and mumbling about interfering oracles and overprotective bats. Dick turned to Babs, shining his widest, brightest smile.

“Mind if I come over tomorrow?” Dick asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Babs smiled at him, one eyebrow of her own lifting. “Proxy and I have an appointment with Doctor Leslie.”

“Aren’t you coming over to see Jason?” Dick asked.

Babs’ smile faltered. “He doesn’t know, Dick,” she said softly.

“He doesn’t know--” Dick’s brow furrowed, confused.

“That I’m in a chair. He’d--he’d try to change it.”

“Wouldn’t you want him to?”

Babs looked away, eyes bright with tears.“...No. I wouldn’t.”

Dick took a deep breath, leaning forward. His fingers brushed her face on the screen, and he wished desperately that he was actually with her, not separated by miles and miles of Gotham. “Babs...”

She swallowed, lowering her head. “Sometimes I do wish--but--but being Oracle... founding the Birds of Prey... mentoring Cass and Steph and Wendy and Charlie...” she looked up, and met his eyes directly. “Being with you... I wouldn’t trade that for anything. And... I don’t need my legs to be a hero.”

“You’re the best hero out of all of us,” Dick said honestly.

She ducked her head, wiping her face surreptitiously as she could while having to move her glasses to do so. “Don’t tell the others,” she said firmly. “They don’t need to know.”

“I won’t,” Dick promised. He blew her a kiss. She returned the gesture, smiling softly at him.

“You should go check on Jason,” she said. “When he was that age he thought you hated him. You should probably fix that.”

A weight appeared in Dick’s stomach. “Yeah, um. Probably.”

She rolled her eyes. “See you soon,” she said, smiling. She cut the connection.

Dick took a deep breath, and went up to see Jason. He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he missed Tim sneaking back into the cave.

* * *

“Go away,” Jason grumbled when Dick came into his room. (Without knocking either--that bastard.)

“Hey Little Wing!” Dick said cheerfully. Jason didn’t need to open his eyes to know that Dick was wearing that scary-cheerful smile of his.

“Go away Dickface,” Jason rolled over onto his side, burying his face in his pillow and drawing the blankets up over him. He let out a yelp as Dick jumped onto the bed, dislodging him from his comfortably warm spot on the bed. He flailed at Dick, hoping to push him off the bed. Dick laughed, ignoring Jason’s efforts to both get rid of him and sleep, and remained where he was. “Eff you,” he mumbled into the mattress.

“Ahh, don’t be like that, Jay!” Dick ruffled his hair. Jason groaned, hoping this was a nightmare. “What kind of big brother would I be if I didn’t invade your privacy and annoy you once in a while?”

“Please go back to hating me and leave me alone,” Jason mumbled.

“Never!” Dick flopped down, tucking his arms beneath his head and staring up at Jason’s ceiling. “Hey, did you do the constellations? That’s _really cool_.”

“Why is this my life?” Jason grumbled, trying to pull the covers over his face again, but Dick’s bulk prevented that from being possible.

“You’re Robin, Little Wing,” Dick reminded him, kicking him lightly. Jason threatened the namesake part of his anatomy. Dick laughed. “You don’t really mean it!” He grinned.

“Yes I do,” Jason said into his pillow. He infinitely preferred Cass’s version of sibling bonding. Or even Damian’s. At least fights didn’t happen when sleep should be occurring.

Dick laughed again. Jason groaned.

“Sorry I’m such a jerk back home,” Dick finally said. “Work on it, okay?”

Jason finally rolled over, facing Dick. “So I _can_ go home?” He asked. His voice was desperate, and small, and it finally sunk in that, as far as Jason knew, he was _stuck here_. That he’d thought he’d never see his Bruce, his Babs, his Alfred,  again. Dick flinched, mentally cursing the entire family for not thinking of this.

“Yeah.” Dick said. “Tim and Babs are working on it.”

Jason finally smiled. Then he knocked Dick out of the bed with a well-placed kick. “Scram, Dickface,” he ordered. “Sleep.”

“Gotcha,” Dick said from the floor. “Sleep.”

* * *

Tim knocked on Jason’s door, later that night. “Jason?” He called.

“ _Go the fuck to sleep we can bond in the morning_.”

* * *

Luckily, Steph thought, Bruce either forgot to lock her out, or someone talked him out of it. Judging from the package full of cookies that arrived at her apartment during lunch, she thought it might be Alfred. It seemed that the old butler enjoyed having someone beside him call out Bruce on his bullshit.

She walked into the Batcave, shedding her gloves as she went. She saw Cass, Tim and Dick gathered around a computer, talking in quiet voices. She walked toward them, whistling as loudly as she could to alert them of her presence. They didn’t turn around. Steph kept moving forward, hoping that since none of them had tried to signal her, Bruce was not about to rain his wrath down upon her.

“ _Sneak attack_!” Suddenly, a small child fell onto her back, nearly causing her to fall over backwards. She caught herself, sticking her arms back to support the boy in a piggy-back position.

“Hey kiddo!” She craned her head just enough to see Jason’s brilliant smile. She grinned back, shifting him further up. He wrapped his legs around her waist, supporting himself. Steph heard Cass laugh, proving that she had been in on the sneak attack all along.

“So what’s up?” Steph asked, moving toward the group again, Jason still hanging on her back like a baby koala. (What were those called? Koala-lites? Oh wait no, it was a name. Tylers? Jacks? Eh, she’d think of it later.)

“We figured out how to get Jason back home.” Tim said, not looking at her.

Steph smiled. “That’s great,’ she said. And she meant it. She loved having the kid around, but he probably really needed to get back to his family so he could hug pre-super-angst Bruce a lot. “When?”

“Soon,” Cass said. “Just... need to say good bye.” Cass’s smile was sad.

“Where’s Bruce?” Steph asked, eyes scanning the room, half expecting him to emerge from the shadows. He didn’t.

“He said he needed to talk with Black Canary about something,” Dick said with a frown. “He didn’t say what.”

Steph gasped. “Bruce? Keeping _secrets_? _Never_! He is an imposter!”

Jason laughed, letting go of her. “He’ll be back soon, though, right?”

“Should be,” Tim said, typing a few things into the computer.

“Don’t worry, Little Wing!” Dick said, swooping in and grabbing Jason into a hug.

“Gah! Let go of me!” Jason flailed in Dick’s grip, but he still looked remarkably happy. Steph wondered how often he got hugs back home, and she frowned to herself.

“Nope!” Dick hugged Jason tighter, which caused Jason to make a face. Cass giggled, clearly amused.

“Let go of me, Dickface!” Jason yelled, but he was grinning and laughing.

“Dickface?” Steph asked, an evil smirk appearing on her face. She exchanged a glance with Cass.

* * *

“Bruce,” Dinah said, looking at him. “Are you sure this is what’s best?”

“Arkham is destroying his psyche,” Bruce said grimly. “The proximity to the Joker causes him to have panic attacks multiple times a day. From what Cassandra said to me, reality and nightmare have been blurring for some time. He needs help.”

Dinah sighed. “I’m not sure if I’m qualified for this.”

“You’re one of the few people I trust enough to handle this,” Bruce said with honesty. Dinah blinked, leaning back in her chair.

“You do realize he tried to hurt Mia?” She asked, frowning.

“I didn’t say he wasn’t dangerous.”

Dinah couldn’t help but smiling. “How good is he?”

“Not as good as you at straight hand to hand combat.”

“Keep him away from guns then?” Dinah shook her head ruefully. “Fine. You’ll have him transferred then?”

“As quietly as possible,” Bruce confirmed. “I have contacts that will help.”

“You mean Oracle does,” Dinah said with a short laugh.

Bruce stood up to go.

“Bruce?” She called at his retreating back. “If he’s as bad as you say... I can’t promise a miracle.”

“I know,” Bruce said quietly. “But I have to try.”

Dinah stared after him as he left. “Well I’ll be damned,” she said to herself, smiling.

* * *

Bruce was back. Tim quietly calibrated the machine (Steph had no idea where he’d gotten it from, but she just went with it). Jason hugged Cass tightly, wondering how long it would be before he met a version of her, or if he’d even get to. “Goodbye,” he said to her, trying not to cry. He was going home, dammit. He should be  _happy_ .

Steph was next, pulling him into another hug. “Look Jason,” she said, her signature smile not present for once. “I know you’re worried, okay? But it’s going to be _fine_.”

“How’re you so sure?” He asked quietly, hoping the others didn’t here. “I mean... you’ve got this great big family and back home it’s...” He looked down. “What if I screw everything up?”

“You can’t worry about that,” she said. “Look, you have a family back home. Sure, it’s not the same yet, but it’s _family_. It’s not about genetics or blood or any of that. You can build your family, and make it better than ours. We’re screwed up, kiddo. We’ve made mistakes. You’ve got an opportunity. Find Cass. Find Tim. Find me, even, if you want to put up with me. Get Dick and Bruce to stop being assholes to each other.” She paused. “Also, be nice to Alfred. We put him through a lot.”

Jason let out a laugh, and hugged her again. “I’ll find you,” he promised.

“Good,” she whispered in his ear. “Now go hug your dad.”

Jason walked over to Bruce, feeling awkward. Ah well. Hopefully all the speeches were done. “Bye Bruce,” he said quietly, hugging him quickly.

“See ya, Little Wing!” Dick said, scooping him up for another hug. Jason tolerated it briefly, then pushed him away.

“Bye Dickface,” he said, sticking out his tongue.

He nodded at Damian. He leaned in and whispered. “Remember, being Robin? It _gives you magic_.”

“What nonsense are you spouting, Todd?” Damian demanded, crossing his arms and scowling.

“You’ll work it out one day,” Jason said, grinning. He turned to Tim.

“You still look like Doctor Midnight.”

Tim groaned. “Goodbye Jason.”

Jason hugged Tim quickly. “Bye!”

“We’re ready then?” Bruce asked, standing by the computer.

“Bye everyone!” Jason waved at the room at large.

“Stay safe Jason!” Babs waved from the video screen. He grinned at her.

“Bye!” Steph waved, grabbing Damian’s hand and forcing him to wave as well. Damian glared at her, and she knew she would pay for it later. She grinned.

The portal opened, large and bright and golden in color. Slowly, tentatively, Jason took a step through it. He looked back, and smiled at them one last time. He stepped the rest of the way through it, and the last thing they saw was him charging towards a different Batman, shouting for joy.

* * *

_Three Years Later_

Jason ran across the rooftops of Gotham, Tim trailing behind him. “Keep up!” He yelled over his shoulder, and he could feel Tim’s glare. He launched a grappling hook and flew across the gap. “C’mon, Boy Wonder!”

He landed on the next roof, and started running again, when a small caped body tackled him, sending him crashing painfully to the ground. “Tag!” Cass grinned down at him. Or at least he assumed she was smiling. Her Batgirl mask made it hard to tell.

“My ribs,” he groaned.

“Wuss,” Steph announced, sitting on a nearby chimney.

“Shut up Spoiler.” Jason got to his feet, rubbing his head.

Cass giggled. “You’re it,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he grumbled.

“Red Robin?” Oracle’s voice crackled inside his ear. He held up a finger to signal the others.

“Yeah O?”

“Penguin’s active tonight. You four up to it?”

Jason Peter Todd, age fifteen, looked at his family, and grinned.

“I think we can handle it.”

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such a roller coaster to write and it was so much fun. I hope you all liked it as much as I did!


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